The Nightmare Before Thanksgiving
by Mirai Trunks1
Summary: Things have gone wrong. Horribly wrong. And now Eomer must spend Thanksgiving with his new brother-in-law, Wormtongue


The Nightmare Before Thanksgiving By Mirai Trunks 

**Disclaimer**: I don't own it, any of it. I don't own the Lord of the Rings, I don't own the Two Towers, I don't own Eomer, Eowyn, Wormtongue, Theoden, or any random Uruk Hai.  I don't own Oliphants or sporks.  I believe that covers it.  I hope you lawyers out there are crying.

**The Setting**: The time is after Eomer is exiled by Wormtongue but before he's gone and beaten up the nomadic Uruk Hai.  The place is vaguely like Middle Earth except, despite the distinct lack of pilgrims and the Mayflower, everyone still celebrates Thanksgiving. So read it, love it, REVIEW IT! SEQ CHAPTER \h \r 1            

"Nobody knows the trouble I've seen."  Eomer took a breath and continued "Nobody knows but Jesus"

            He didnt know who Jesus was but the song amply described the mood he was in so he didn't really care.  He had been exiled.  Exiled by Wormtongue!  Oh how he hated Wormtongue. Before that guy came along things had been simple.  Happy.  His Uncle had kicked ass.  He had kicked ass.  Eowyn had kicked ass.  As a result Rohan had kicked ass.  Lots and lots of orc ass.  But no more.  No more.  

            Eomer winced thinking of the sad state of affairs Rohan was in when he left.  What would become of it?  What would become of him?  What if nothing changed?  What if Wormtongue continued to tool the King?  What if Wormtongue continued to grant orcs free access to beautiful Rohan? What if...What if Wormtongue married his sister?!?  He would become his BROTHER-IN-LAW!   This realization was so terrible Eomer could hardly suppress a girly scream of absolute terror.  But supress it he did and it was a good thing too.  Soldiers quickly loose respect for generals who scream like girls. 

            But this didn't prevent Eomer from dwelling on the terrible possiblility. He would have to see Wormtongue in the palace.  He would have to make polite conversation with him at family reunions.  He would have to sit down to eat with him every year at Thanksgiving.  This last senario was struck Eomer as especially disturbing and he was painfully working it over in his mind when...

            THWACK

            The exiled troops winced as, out of a clear blue sky, a wounded Oliphant with unusually large ears plummeted down and landed smack dab on their general. When they finally got the large pachyderm off their fearless leader they found him, un-surprisingly, out cold.  They set some broken bones, made bets on which naughty word their general would first employ to describe his view of his condition when he awoke, and settled down to *wait* for said awakening.

            Meanwhile...

            Eomer was locked in desperate battle with a tangle the size of a small summer cottage in his hair. Long blonde curly hair is a difficult thing to maintain even if one is not frequently fighting numerous battles. Usually Eomer didn't sweat the hair maintenance too much.  After all, there's little need to look pretty for orcs.  This, however, was Thanksgiving, and on this day of all days Eomer had traditionally made it a point to look nice and this meant performing the annual hair brushing.  

            Although why he was adhering to tradition when the rest of Rohan had thrown it out the window was beyond him.  Why was he trying to clean up for a comatose uncle, a chronically depressed sister, and the brother in law...the brother in law from hell?  Tears welled up in his eyes due to pain either from the scene painted in his mind or the brush tearing as his scalp.  

Finally after a particularly painful "rrrrip-SNAP" in which he managed to break the brush, Eomer threw the wounded instrument down on the floor, stomped on it a few times just so it was certain as to just who was boss, and walked out of his room towards the main dinning hall muttering dark things.

                        Eomer pushed open the large wooden doors to the dinning hall.  Thanksgiving dinner had already begun.  He took his place at the table and glared at Wormtongue over a large vat of mashed potatoes.  He quickly fished around in his mind for something insulting, in a formally hokey sort of way, to say to his new brother in law.

            "I see your patience is exceeded only by your dashing good looks."

            There, that would have to do.  He was gratified, however, in that it took Wormtongue a good three seconds to work that out and he still looked a bit confused when he replied sweetly, "Come now, brother, I desire no quarrel with you."

            Eomer made chicken noises under his breath.  Wormtongue's eyebrow twitched but he went on.

            "See, I have even allowed you to retain your place at head of the table opposite, of course, the good King Theoden."

            "That's just because you want to stay next to Theoden so you can maintain your evil web of complete control!" Eomer yelled and made towards Wormtongue.

            Wormtongue made a sound best described as "Bleh!", hid behind the throne and nudged the comatose Theoden.  Theoden twitched, said "hmphmbleeeeeeeeeh", and patted Wormtongue on the head a few times

            "Mumbly hmph ma PEACE mugglby rubble" he slurred.  Wormtongue blew a raspberry. Eomer strangled a napkin.  Lunch trudged on.

            Eomer tried to distract his thoughts from the awful reality by eating, unfortunately any food attained had to be wrestled away from numerous orcs who were roaming wild and free around the table.  This situation, in its self being so warped and twisted, did little to divert his mind. Something had to be done.  Theoden was on no help.  Perhaps he could enlist aid from Gondor.  But probably not, the last time he checked the unwritten rule book of Rohan citizens the punishment for asking for help from, running away to, or insinuating in any way that Rohan was inferior to Gondor, was castration. 

            He was still puzzling over a proper course of action that would allow him to one day father children, when an orc committed the ultimate mortal sin.  It stole Eomer's turkey drumstick.  Eomer looked in shock from his plate to the orc and back again.  

This was the last straw.  

Wormtongue had ordered him to be kept far away from anything pointy (even now he had been eating with a spork) so he had to resort to other methods of punishment for food stealing orcs.  Quick as a flash he crashed a half empty cauldron of stuffing own on the foolish creature and, with the strength that only men who have been deprived of their rightful meat can muster, tossed the stunned agent of evil out the window.

            A shocked Wormtongue opened and closed his mouth in a manner vaguely reminiscent of an ugly fish.  "Warmonger" he finally found voice to yell. "That orc was a guest!"

            "It stole the best part of the turkey!" Eomer yelled.

            "Lies, filthy dirty lies." Wormtongue whispered the Theoden.

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            "Mumble ruggle lies filthy dirty muubbly gulg glug." Theoden mumbled and began to drool in his cranberries.

            "Oh for God's sake" Eomer cried as he banged his head on the stone wall of the chamber.  He cast about the room for an ally.  He saw orcs, more orcs, some uruk hai and his sister.  

            "Eowyn!" he appealed to her for help.  Previously he had tried to leave her out of the goings on seeing as she was in a rather difficult position and had been rather high strung to boot, but this was an hour of need. 

            Wormtongue too turned to face his new and highly reluctant bride, with a curious and fairly apprehensive look.

            Eowyn looked up from her plate where she had listlessly been constructing a city, vaguely reminiscent of Minas Tirinth, out of mashed potatoes and sliced carrots.  She looked from Eomer to Wormtongue and back again.  As she did so her eyes grew wide and watery and her lower lip began to tremble.  Finally she backed her self into a corner and began rocking back and forth muttering to herself about a cage.

            Wormtongue "hmph"-ed and glared at Eomer.

            "See what you've done!" he accused "Now I have to get the straight jacket again." he stalked out of the room.

            Eomer tossed 3 more orcs out the window to relieve stress, it was a treatment you would not find in any spa but was highly effective in this case.  At least it was until the other orcs brandished their sporks and ran after him.  Now Eomer is a brave man, but "Death by Spork Wielding Orcs" was             not an epitaph he relished.

            He made like panty hose and ran.

            Inside his room he made the unpleasant discovery the lock had been removed.  He braced the door with a few chairs and a toilet, but it wouldn't be long until the orcs, under lead of a returned Wormtongue broke in.  He could hear the grunts and growls and the evil pansy voice crying "Get 'im!"

            He had barely enough time to turn and brandish his spork before the doors broke down and orcs streamed in.                                                      

            The pain! Oh how the sporks inflicted pain. He was surrounded and had but one measly spork to defend himself against a virtual gauntlet.  He could see the bright light at the end of the tunnel now.  It was coming closer, closer, he could see through.  He could see, he could see Elvis.

            Then...

            The beatings stopped suddenly.  Slowly the orcs parted to admit Eomer's dear brother in law.

class=Section3> 

            "Eomer, you have thrown a total of four orcs out the window, at this a joyous family celebration.  Normally the punishment for this would be death by spork." he paused for dramatic emphasis then continued "But as my motto is "forgive and forget"..." Eomer's eye twitched convulsively "I will let this incident slide this time...as long as it is not repeated at Christmas."

            Eomer's eyes widened "Christmas?" He had forgotten there would have to be other holiday's celebrated with this new addition to his family.

            "Yes."  Wormtongue continued. "I'd hate for little Wormtongue Jr, who will have just come into the world by then, to witness such a scene."

            Wormtongue Jr.

            The thought of this and all it entailed was absolutely the most terrible thing that had ever occurred to him, in these, his 28 years of life.  He writhed on the floor of his chamber, clutching at his hair trying to tear the awful hints of images that entered, unbidden into his mind, all he while screaming the scream of Ultimate Suffering.  Wormtongue cackled gleefully and Eomer continued to writhe until...

            FWIP!

            Eomer awoke with a start drenched in a cold sweat.  He bolted upright and was accosted by a barrage of pain from his earlier Oliphant adventures.

            "UNHOLY ORC FUCKING BITCH OF SAURON!" he bellowed.

            There were cries of exultation and sighs of woe from his men as bets were paid and collected. After a feast of fresh Oliphant Eomer felt a wee bit better.  He lay back on the grass contemplating.  It had only been a dream.  Dreams don't come true.  Unless you have prophetic dreams.  This possibility made Eomer exceptionally nervous.  He was still twitching when a soldier came up to him.

            "Where to now, Sir?" 

            Eomer shook his head to clear it and decided then and there is was time for unorthodox stress relief measures.

            "To hunt some orc!" he declared.  And so, with this unconscious quoting of the hands down stupidest line in The Fellowship Of The Ring, our story **ends**.

**Author's note**: And that's all she wrote.  I think.  I'm toying with the idea of making a Christmas chapter.  If you would actually read it please tell me.  I'm sorry if I scarred anyone too much with the whole Wormtongue Jr. bit.  If it makes you feel any better it was pretty disturbing to write as well but I must obey the creative impulses of my soul. Why does Word not recognize "spork" as a word? Ah well. PLEASE REVIEW!! PLEASE!!


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